Prince of Power (House of Terriot Book 2)

by Nancy Gideon

  What had they put inside him?

  He paced his rooms like a caged animal, restless, anxious, angry without reason, looking for an excuse, any excuse to vent the volcanic steam rising with each passing hour. When his phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his Vibram soles.

  "Hey, Col. It took some time, but I think I've got what you wanted." A pause then a fierce and low, "Dammit." Kip sighed. "Shall I bring it over?"

  "No!" He backed down the panic level. "Not here. I'll meet you at the club."

  "Colin? Are you all right?"

  "No."

  Far from it. So far, he feared to meet his brother alone, afraid of what he might do. The club would be safer. Noise. Distraction. Things that would help him block out the insidious whispers upping in volume and in violence. He wanted desperately to call Mia, needing her presence to quiet the rumblings inside him. The second he thought of her, the voices growled to life.

  “Guedry whore. She doesn't love you. She's using you. She'll turn on you. Don't trust her!”

  Maybe Rico . . .

  “He wants your female. He covets your family. He'd kill you to have them if he had the chance.”

  Colin pulled on his coat and rushed out into the night, trying to escape his demons.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Shifter club pounded out heavy metal. Chords echoing meanly in his head, Colin searched for his youngest brother in the nearly full house, finding him at a discreet back table.

  Good kid. Smart kid.

  He pushed through the crowd, keeping his eyes down and his hands in his pockets. Kip looked up from his on-tap beer, and Colin saw the truth of all he'd suspected in the boy's tragic stare. He dropped into the empty chair, his hopes taking that jarring fall with him.

  "I wouldn't believe it was you," Kip began in a voice barely audible above the booming sound system. "Cale didn't want to believe it, but he couldn't afford to ignore what Ms. Babineau saw at the park. She saw you talking to James, and that pointed to treason."

  "But you were wrong, weren't you?"

  "Yeah, we were. I'm sorry, Col."

  "It doesn't matter now."

  “Of course it does! You were the first one they pointed to when looking for a traitor. To you, who’d given them everything!"

  Colin reached a shaky hand for the small stack of printouts Kip had brought with him, trying to silence that bitter truth. He thumbed through the documents, matching the dates as Kip must have to transfers of sizable stock options into a particular Terriot trust.

  "I missed it before," Kip was saying. "I didn't go back that far when Cale asked me to run a check. It's my fault."

  "No," Colin shook his head. "It's not on you. None of it! I never would’ve guessed, either, but I should have." Rockets of pain and blame burst behind the eyes he closed so tightly. "How could he do that? To them? To me?"

  Kip's hand pressed his shoulder in a wordless sympathy, but Colin flinched out from under it. He pushed the pages back at his brother. "Hide these somewhere safe. Tell no one."

  "Colin."

  "No one!"

  “You don’t look good, Col. Can I take you home?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I don’t think you are.”

  His gaze flashed up, glittering fiercely. His voice dropped to a raspy growl. “I said I’m fine.”

  “Okay.” Kip stood, still reluctant to leave him. “I’ll see to these for you. And I won’t say anything.”

  Colin’s hostility melted away. “Thanks, little bro.”

  “Take care, Colin. You need me, you know where I am.”

  As he moved away, Kip’s worry wouldn’t allow him to just leave. He stopped the pretty bartender he remembered from Cale’s going away party. She smiled when he approached, signaling she remembered him, too.

  “Hi. I know he’s above the age of consent and all, but could you keep an eye on my brother.” He let his nod do the pointing. “He’s not feeling too good. If he takes a turn for the worst, could you give Rico a call? Do you have his number?”

  “I do. Be happy to.”

  Feeling a bit better, Kip thanked her and said good-night, still far from comfortable with leaving Colin on his own, especially with what he’d just dropped on him. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to double bag in the Guardian Angel department.

  And he knew just who to contact via MacCreedy.

  “It’s good to see you out and about again.” Amber approached the table with a smile, pausing when the Shifter sitting in the shadows raised his head. A red-streaked stare glittering with glints of silver fixed on her. Something was dangerously different about Colin Terriot.

  “Can I get you something?”

  Brows lowered, forming knots of warning above those intense eyes. “You can get the hell away from me.”

  If it had been anyone else, she would have walked away and spoken to Jacques LaRoche, the club’s beefy owner, who preferred to handle those hard-to-handle customers himself, but Amber hesitated against her best instincts because of her fondness for the handsome Terriot. “Colin, are you all right?”

  A low growl boiled up from inside him. When he spoke again, the sharp points of his teeth flashed beneath the curl of his lip. “Leave me alone.”

  Putting her hands up in a harmless fashion, she smiled tightly and backed away as fear jumped inside her. She knew the look. And she knew where it would lead. At the corner of the bar, Amber drew out her phone to make a quick call.

  “Frederick, your brother is here. There’s something wrong with him. You’d better come quick.”

  Colin closed his eyes against the smeary glare of the lights. Music and voices battered his eardrums, loud, blaring, indistinguishable. So hot. Sweat, both burning and icy cold, rolled down his skin in shivery rivulets. He tore his jacket open in hope of some relief, throat tightening about each gasping breath. His heartbeats exploded in time to the merciless noise hammering around him.

  Where was he? Threat trickled down the back of his neck, triggering the rise of his hair in a defensive bristle. The warmth and scent of other Shifters packed in tight around him pressed uncomfortably close. Not his kind. What was he doing here, surrounded by his enemies, alone, exposed on every side?

  He could feel their focus turn to him, one by one, in a slow, increasing wave of danger. All he saw were hunching shadows framed by hazy light that pulsed in time to the music. Eyes shone red.

  Run, his self-preserving instincts screamed, but a deep, vibrating rumble rose to overwhelm it.

  I am a prince in the House of Terriot. We do not run.

  “It’s a trap,” another softer, more insistent voice whispered through the confusion of his mind. “They’re going to kill you.

  “Like they did your family.”

  Fury steadied him as his surroundings seemed to catch fire. Flames seared his skin. Screams ripped through his heart.

  “Avenge them.”

  A large figure separated from the hellish glare of the room, a big, bald man he should have known but couldn’t quite recognize through the choking fog of his rage. A huge hand reached out to him. A jumble of syllables dragged out in slow motion, crushed beneath the throb of vengeful thoughts swamping over him in a tide of ill-will.

  Terriot.

  Animal. Beast.

  “Kill him!”

  With a ferocious snarl, Colin vaulted the table, lunging into the face of unbeatable odds.

  Rico heard him before he actually saw him. He’d know the roar of his brother’s war cry anywhere.

  The room was in chaos, tables overturned, spilled beer and blood wetting way too many surfaces. Some of the club’s patrons hung back, alarmed but too curious to leave. The rest were piled in the seething tangle of bodies on the floor, rolling, grappling in a wild, fangs-and-claws-out melee.

  Amber gripped his arm, her face pale but her manner calm in the eye of the surrounding storm. “I don’t know what happened,” she rushed to fill him in. “He just went off, started tearing through the place. Stop him befo
re somebody dies.”

  Rico waded in without hesitation, peeling off combatants the way he would the outer layers of an onion, giving them a good shake and a firm toss to discourage them from coming back. It took some doing to get to the bottom of the stack. The closer he got to the center, the more forceful he had to be in his discouragement, pounding, knocking heads, growling, “Get off him, you bastards!”

  Pinned by the sheer press of numbers, Colin was on his back but hardly helpless. His terrible face was streaked with gore, his stare hot and ferocious, the claws on his good hand dripping and caked with strips torn from his attackers. The instant he was freed, instead of retreating, he scrambled up and lunged with a savage cry. Holding him back with an arm across his chest, Rico shouted at the few who still wanted a piece of Terriot, “You dumbasses! I’m not saving him from you. I’m saving you from him!”

  They were a slow bunch, but as Colin strained and snapped and snarled, struggling to get free, they saw their deaths in his maddened eyes and backed off, leaving Rico to deal with him.

  Dealing with him was no easy task. Holding him tight in a restraining embrace as he thrashed and tried to get a foothold on the slippery floor, Rico spoke low in his ear.

  “Col, it’s over. It’s done. Come on, brother, back it down. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  “Red?”

  “I got your back. I got you.”

  Panting fiercely, harsh rumbles of rage still shaking up through his chest, Colin leaned into him. “Good to see you. Help me finish ’em.”

  “I think we’re done here, Col.” Rico hung on, not quite trusting his compliance as the bar owner, LaRoche approached. The huge shifter nursed a blackened eye. Rico turned on him furiously. “What kind of place is this that you’d let that mob jump him?”

  “Jump him?” LaRoche laughed. “That crazy son of a bitch started it and wouldn’t be stopped. I don’t want him back in here. I don’t allow that kind of crap in my place.”

  “Colin!”

  Hearing Mia Guedry’s voice washed the violence from his brother in an instant.

  She raced across the room, alarm bright in her dark eyes, eyes that didn’t see Rico at all as her arms banded Colin and hugged him tight. The much bigger figure engulfed her as he sagged in her arms, his head on her shoulder, her trembling fingers combing frantically through his hair.

  “Mia. Mia, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

  “It’s okay now. I’m here. I’ll take you home.”

  At the nod of his head, her gaze finally lifted to notice Rico. Her tone slashed with protective fury. “How could you let this happen?”

  Stunned and annoyed by her attack, he spread his hands wide. “He just happened all on his own. I’m just here for the cleanup.”

  He was instantly forgotten as Colin mumbled against her neck. “I love you, Mia. I’m sorry.”

  “I know. It’s okay. Let’s go home.”

  Let’s go home . . . Rico stared at the two of them, Colin limp and clutching, Mia all sheltering attention. What the hell?

  Then, as she rearranged her heavy burden, his head lolled on her shoulder, face burrowing into the fur of her coat collar, nudging it aside to expose the answer to Rico’s question. The scars on her skin were new and unmistakable. Both he and the approaching bartender saw them.

  Colin Terriot and Mia Guedry were a bonded pair.

  The absolute devastation in Rico’s expression cued Amber to how impossible her hopes had been.

  “Where are your keys, dreamboat? We need to get you out of here.” When she had them in hand, Mia nodded to Amber and Rico. “Thank you for the help.”

  Rico returned the gesture stiffly. “Need a hand with him?”

  “I got him.” To prove it, she gave the now-repentant prince a squeeze. “Let’s go, you big, angry baby.”

  He mumbled a non-verbal affirmative and began to straighten, glancing around to take in his damage path with a blink of surprise. His attention cut to LaRoche. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay for everything.”

  “Damn right, you will. Send a check in the mail.”

  Mia kept a careful eye on her passenger as she taxied him home. She tried to pretend she wasn’t distressed by the scene at the club, but what she’d seen gnawed at her with fear’s sharp teeth. What had provoked him into such uncharacteristic behavior? He wasn’t drunk, Amber had told her, just off. His mood, his actions, even his voice those of an unpleasant stranger. A dangerous stranger. Behavior that would wear out his welcome in New Orleans.

  He walked beside her, leaning only slightly now as she opened the gate and unlocked his door. The living room was dark and warm compared to the chill outside.

  “I need a shower,” he mumbled, dropping his coat to the floor, toeing out of his boots, letting his pants slide down long, sturdy legs as he moved toward the bedroom with its luxurious bathroom. When she hesitated, he turned to look back over his shoulder. “Coming?”

  “I hope so,” she murmured under her breath as she followed, picking up after him. By the time she’d put his boots and clothing aside, water was running. She heard the sound of steady spray interrupted by the intrusion of his body, followed by his long, gusty sigh. The bond that tied them tightened and tantalized, heightening the deep rhythm of his breathing, the hot scent of his wet skin laced with a harshly compelling whiff of blood as it sluiced down the drain. She undressed, her hands trembling like a virgin’s, clumsy in their urgency.

  She stepped into the bathroom, immediately arrested by the sight of him all naked and strong, his face tipped up, eyes closed, to greet the forceful spray, his hand slicking back his hair. The flex of muscle, the sleekness of skin, stirred an instinct so raw and primal it startled her, driving her, pulling her across the tiled floor to sample with her hands what she’d ravaged with her stare.

  For a long moment, he didn’t turn, his powerful form tense beneath the heated spray and adoration of her touch. The caress of her hands became the slow slip and slide of her body against his as she licked the wetness from the hard swell of his shoulders. Her hands curved around to stroke his chest, exciting her with the rapid thunder of his urgency, pounding against his ribs, throbbing lower within the tight curl of her fingers.

  He said her name, low and gruff, as he turned off the water and revolved within the circle of her arms.

  “Mia.”

  Caught by the stark beauty of his face, by the intensity of his eyes, hot green rimmed with black and shot through with sparks of silver. She stretched up for his kiss, reveling in its rough possession.

  Curling his arm beneath the curve of her bottom, he walked them out of the shower enclosure, lifting her, setting her on the cold marble counter, their hungry mouths locked, tongues mating furiously as he settled between the spread of her knees.

  Mia gasped into his kiss as he claimed her with a deep stroke, her body arching, her legs cinching about his low back, one hand clutching his wet hair, the other gripping the edge of the counter. Knowing they’d both finish in seconds if he continued his rough thrusts, she fought to delay the moment. In case when they were done, he’d want her gone.

  “Colin, wait.”

  He paused, huge body tight and trembling.

  “Do that thing,” she coaxed in a husky whisper.

  “What thing?”

  “You know. With your hips. That thing that drives me wild.”

  “This thing?” He withdrew then eased inside her, not with a direct plunge but with a slow, circular motion that ignited more nerve endings than she knew existed. Teasing little movements, advancing, withdrawing with an unexpected irregularity, coaxing a quiver of urgency, making her pant, and clutch and finally beg. Gripping his firm rear, she jerked him into her with hard, rapid movements to complete them both in noisy harmony.

  “Was that what you wanted?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Oh, yeah,” she sighed, heels rubbing up and down the backs of his thighs. “Where did you l
earn that?”

  “Practice.”

  “So you could be number one.”

  “So I could please you.” A pause. “Do I? Please you?”

  “Are you kidding?” A shaky laugh. “In ways you can’t imagine.” She pulled him down into a leisurely kiss, her arms looping about his neck as she urged, “Can we take this into the other room. My butt’s getting cold.”

  “Can’t have that.” His arm scooped beneath her chilled backside, holding her, keeping them joined together as he carried her into the bedroom, where he stretched out over her upon the yielding mattress. His weight mashed deliciously.

  “Colin?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Can we talk about tonight?”

  He’d begun to move again in slow, coaxing strokes but paused at her question. “I thought we just did.”

  “About what happened at the club. What’s happening to you.”

  “So now you’ve got complaints?” His words were testy, his tone textured by an underlying ripple of uncertainty, perhaps even fear. He went completely still, waiting for her response.

  “I’m worried about you. And I’m not the only one.”

  His voice sharpened. “Is this about Rico? What did he say to you?”

  The fury massing above her like a thunderstorm about to cut loose gave Mia an abrupt jolt, making her cautious. “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Something’s wrong. I feel it.”

  “You didn’t notice anything wrong a minute ago when you were screaming my name.”

  He kissed her hard to silence her as he picked up the vigorous below the waist conversation again. Sensing his purpose wasn’t pleasure but rather avoidance, Mia’s anxiousness doubled.

  What was he hiding from her? She pretended to encourage him, matching the tempo of his hips, stroking the flex of his shoulders, but her thoughts churned wildly.

  “I’m with you, Colin,” she breathed into his ear. “You can trust me. You can tell me anything.”